


a spare heart to feel

by shellybelle



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bed-sharing, Derek "Nursey" Nurse is Unchill, Established Relationship, M/M, References to Depression, reference to offscreen academic racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9662468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellybelle/pseuds/shellybelle
Summary: He doesn’t mean to take to pain like water to paper. It just sort of...happens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Nursey Week](http://nurseyweek.tumblr.com), Day 4: “Sensitivity."
> 
> Please do note the warnings.

_“Sometimes I think,_

_I need a spare heart to feel_

_all the things I feel.”_

\- Sanober Khan, A Thousand Flamingos

 

 

The knock on the door pulls Derek out from under the pile of blankets. His face feels puffy and sore, and he rubs his eyes tiredly. 

 

Another knock. “Nursey.” Dex’s voice. Derek drops his head down and muffles his groan into his pillow. Maybe he can pretend he’s not home. “Nursey, I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

 

“No, I’m not,” Derek mutters into his pillowcase. He doesn’t want to _people_ anymore today. He dealt with people earlier, and he’s really just fucking _done_. 

 

“Nursey, I swear to God, I’ll get your RA to do a wellness check if you don’t open this door.”

 

There’s a warning note in Dex’s voice, and Derek knows he’s not kidding. With a heavy sigh, Derek drags himself out of bed, pulling his comforter with him and wrapping it over his head and around his shoulders like a cloak as he shuffles over to the door. “Okay, okay,” he says, loud enough to be heard through it. “Jesus, chill.”

 

He pulls the door open, revealing Dex, his face tight with concern, one hand held up to knock again. When he sees Nursey, his eyes narrow even more.

 

“See?” Derek says. “I’m alive.”

 

It’s a long shot to think that Dex will take the hint. “Jesus, Nursey,” he says. “You look like shit, are you okay?”

 

Yeah, babe, Derek almost says, I’ve hidden myself in my room in the dark all afternoon because I’m in a _great mood_ , how are you? “It’s just a rough day,” he says. 

 

Dex’s frown deepens. “Can I come in?”

 

Derek sighs and steps back. Dex steps past him into the room, closing the door gently behind him. He studies Derek for a moment, brow furrowed, then says, “Okay. Alright, come on.” 

 

He puts an arm around Derek’s blanket-wrapped shoulders and guides him back to the bed. Derek doesn’t bother putting the comforter back on the bed, just pulls his sheet back and crawls under it again, still cocooned in warmth. The fabric is soft and cool against his skin, and for some reason, the touch of the pillow against his cheek makes him want to cry again. He swallows hard.

 

Dex sits down on the edge of the bed next to him. “Hey,” he says, gently. “What’s going on? You dropped off the world.”

 

Derek closes his eyes. He’d turned off his phone after class, however many hours ago that was. He doesn’t even know what time it is now. Judging by the lack of light coming through his window, it’s probably late. “I didn’t mean to,” he says. 

 

The words come out thick, caught in the back of his throat. 

 

“Hey.” One of Dex’s hands slips into his hair, stroking gently. “It’s okay.” 

 

Derek doesn’t respond, just pushes his face harder into his pillow so that Dex doesn’t see the way all his features are pinching closer to his nose as his eyes sting again. It makes him feel stupid and soft, and he swallows again, pulling in a trembling breath and fisting his fingers around his comforter. He wonders if he can make it any tighter around his shoulders. 

 

“You don’t have to talk to me or tell me what happened,” Dex says after a few moments of silence. “But can you tell me if you’re safe right now?”

 

He says it slowly, carefully, like he’s talking to someone fragile, and Derek bristles slightly. He doesn’t need to be fucking _handled_. Lifting his head out of his cocoon, he twists around to frown at Dex. “I’m fine,” he says. 

 

Dex gives him a Look. The Look says, _bullshit_.

 

Derek sighs and sits up, pulling his comforter with him. “I’m _fine_ ,” he insists. “Like, I’m not--The source material we had to read for one of my classes was just super fucking racist, and I pushed back because I’m just fucking sick of that shit, and my prof made it personal, because, like, why else would I care, right? And I had to hold it together, because otherwise I’m _that guy_ , and I just--” 

 

He takes a breath, face hot, and lets it out slowly, shaking. “I’m fine. I’m frustrated and I’m sad and I’m pissed that I have to deal with this _shit_ and I don’t _want to_ , and I just want to crawl under my fucking blankets and not have to interact with fucking anything. But it’s not--I’m fine.”

 

And he is, is the thing. It’s not one of Those Days, the dark ones where he can’t move and the world feels like it’s crushing down around him. 

 

This is just...him. Overemotional, thin-skinned, wrapped in a layer of chill so fragile it’ll shatter if it’s tapped at just the right angle, and it had taken every ounce of his self-control to get back to his room before he’d lost it today.

 

Dex looks at him, quiet now. His hand had dropped from Derek’s hair when he’d sat up, resting on his knee now, but he strokes his thumb there in soft, gentle circles. They’ve fought about this enough times now that he knows the kinds of things Derek has heard from people who look like him, that read the same newspapers and watch the same news as his family back in Maine. 

 

Derek’s let him see the aftermath, too: stiff shoulders and tight lips and slow, controlled breaths, manufactured calm until he’s behind closed doors again, and he can pretend he doesn’t have to let shit roll off his back. 

 

When Dex does speak, he’s hesitant. “Can I touch you?”

 

Derek nods. “I guess.”

 

Dex reaches down to push his sneakers off, then climbs more fully up onto the bed. He coaxes Derek back down onto his side but doesn’t make him unwrap his blanket, just puts an arm over his waist, pulling Derek into his chest. “This okay?”

 

“Yeah.” Derek closes his eyes. “It’s good.” Another layer of safety. Another literal barrier between him and the world while he works on repairing his mental one. 

 

He feels the soft press of Dex’s lips in his hair. “Can I tell you something?” Dex asks quietly.

 

Derek nods, not opening his eyes. Dex’s fingers replace his lips, combing gently through his curls. “I think you’re brave,” he says. “Not for saying whatever you said in class, I know you would’ve said it anyway, because that’s just who you are. But for--for feeling as much as you do. For letting yourself feel shit, even though it hurts. Your softness.” 

 

His voice is tinged with a tenderness that makes Derek’s heart ache and his eyes sting again, though it hurts less, this time. “I love that softness,” Dex whispers. “I hate that it hurts you, and I hate watching the world break your fucking heart every day. But the same softness that hurts you like this makes you fucking glow when you see something beautiful. It makes you light up when I kiss you. And I just…” He takes a breath. “It’s one of the bravest parts about you. And I love it.”

 

Derek knows he’s shaking by the time Dex stops talking--sue him, okay, he’s a fucking romantic and apparently his boyfriend’s a fucking closet _sap_ \--and he worms his head out of his cocoon of blankets and away from Dex’s chest to look up at him. “Will,” he says wetly. “I…”

 

He doesn’t really know what to say next. He’s tired--emotionally, and mentally, and physically, too, because crying fucking exhausts him. He’s probably dehydrated. He probably needs to eat. 

 

He takes a breath. “Stay with me?” he asks. “I know I gotta get up and drink something soon, but just...Stay with me here, for a bit? Till I can deal with shit out there?”

 

Dex looks at him. For all he claims he’s all hard edges, his eyes are soft, fond. “Yeah.” Derek smiles and bumps his head up against Dex’s fingers, where they’re still threaded through his hair, and Dex’s lips twitch a little, a half-indulgent smile. He shifts, slouching a little lower onto the bed and flopping his head down onto one arm, pulling Derek closer with the other. “Hey,” he says, touching his forehead to Derek’s once he’s situated.

 

Derek closes his eyes. “Hey.”

 

“You’re fine?”

 

“I’m fine,” Derek says. “I promise.”

 

“Okay.” Dex’s hand runs in gentle strokes along his back, up and down, a soothing motion. 

 

“I’ll fall back to sleep if you do that,” Derek says. He doesn’t open his eyes. They’re still sore from earlier, and they feel better closed.

 

Dex tucks a kiss against his forehead. “That’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind you sleeping shit off, long as I know you’re okay.” Another soft press of lips. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

“Mm,” Derek mumbles. “Promise?”

 

A soft laugh. “Promise.”

 

As he breathes in the smell of Dex’s body wash and laundry detergent and starts to let himself drift again, he feels Dex adjust the tuck of the comforter around his shoulders, making sure he’s still securely wrapped. Protected. It makes him smile, even as awareness slips slowly away. 

 

He’s not the only one here who’s soft.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I just. My soft sweet boys, y'know? 
> 
> For more of my fic, my feels, and (fuck alliteration) my dog, follow me on tumblr @geniusorinsanity


End file.
